“They are foolish, but they are brave,” even Scarouady admitted. “The woods are no place for them, just the same.”
There had not been much opportunity to see Washington. He had given up his best horse to be used as a pack horse. Gist said that Washington, too, was worried over the long line that the French might cut to pieces, and over the slow march. He wished to speak to the General about hurrying.
He must have done so, for at the Little Meadows, about twenty-five miles from Will’s Creek, a man named Colonel Dunbar was left with part of the heavy baggage and provisions and about one thousand men. Taking twelve hundred of the best men, and twenty cannon, and thirty wagons, General Braddock pushed on. Four hundred of these men were kept to the front, making the trail.
After another long time they all came to the Great Meadows; but they did not stop to look at Fort Necessity. They camped on the other side, and then marched up the Laurel Hills and camped near the Rock Fort where Washington and Tanacharison had met to attack Jumonville.
Robert remembered that night very well; so did Scarouady and so did Washington, probably—but Washington was not here now. He was sick and unable to travel.
That was bad. Washington was behind, with Colonel Dunbar. Still Gist had said:
“Have no fear. He stays to get well for the fight, by the General’s orders. The General thinks so much of him that he promises to wait for him before striking the French.”
The next camp was at Gist’s place. The mountains had been crossed, but the forests were as dense as ever. The soldiers began to get nervous. They heard strange sounds at night; by day men straggling aside to pick berries were killed and scalped.
When the march was within twenty-five or thirty miles of Fort Duquesne by trail, and only thirteen by straight line, the Buck was killed also.